Very cheeky of me, I know, cramming two weeks of Up The Duff into one, but allow me a little leeway (I barely know my own name at the moment).

Mr Chick took me for a Last Hurrah / babymoon / belated birthday weekend at my favourite hotel in Sydney last weekend, which was awesome, although I was very nervous the chicklet was going to come on the Friday night after we’d checked in. He was so low down and walking was tricky. When I sit still and he rolls around, I realise just how much of a BABY he is now. He’s a big boy. The doppler always shows a strong heartbeat. And when he decides to bust a move, mama knows about it.

The rock’n’roll nursery’s pretty much done. We hung Mr Chick’s guitars on the wall, I put the cot together yesterday and washed all his clothes and packed 3-4 weeks of nappies into a drawer. I also dug into the depths of my wardrobe for the llama-fur teddy bear I bought four long years ago in Peru. Back then I had no idea if I’d ever become a mum and the bear, carted all over South America, has been sitting in a plastic bag at the back of my cupboard all this time. Seeing it on the sofa in the nursery was a sweet moment.

The ‘Anything yet?’ calls and texts have started. Nothing doing, people. I am currently on the couch resting my busted knee after falling thanks to a stupid rug I decided, stupidly, to put in the hallway because it looked nice. Yeah, note to self: rugs and freshly polished floors are a bad combo.

Yoohoo, people

Want an honest perspective from a gal who's answered literally thousands of love life questions over the years? At RC HQ, no question is too small or too strange. Well, ok. Some questions I get are super strange, but we try not to get all judgey around here.